


and I will wait for you

by kimaro



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Reincarnation, Soulmates, i think, things will be explained later, will add more tags when they're relevant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaro/pseuds/kimaro
Summary: You remember every life you’ve ever lived. Minho doesn’t. It doesn’t matter, because you promise to find him in every single one.
Relationships: Lee Minho | Lee Know/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	and I will wait for you

You wake up to the sound of war.

The room is pitch black when your eyes open, and there is a whining in your ears as you feel the bed shaking. You rush to the window, eyes widening in abject horror at the flames, the screams, the tumbling stone… all those months of waiting, of planning, of anxiously watching your mother pore over endless letters and documents and maps, trying desperately to negotiate your way out of an invasion.

Just to wake up in the middle of the night to the world burning down around you. 

There is nothing in your head but a silent, defeated emptiness as you stare out at the destruction, etching it into your memory, and you know in that moment you will never forget the image of flames scorching across the orangery, the breath of smouldering citrus; the cold smoke filling the air-

A hand clamps over your mouth and your brain roars back to life, pulse racing as you struggle against the bony frame trapping you from behind. _They got in. I’m being taken hostage_ -

“Stop! Stop, it’s me!”

You let your muscles go lax at the sound of that familiar whisper and you spin around, glaring at your almost-kidnapper, adrenaline still pumping through your blood as your eyes slowly find the silhouette of your only cousin in the gloom.

“What the hell, Jeongin? I thought you were—”

His hand is over your mouth again, but this time he’s pushing you towards the hidden passageway behind a thick tapestry, eyes apologetic, and you see the worry etching lines on his barely-adult face. The door grinds open slowly, and you grab at his sleeves as he turns to leave.

“No, no, no, what are you doing? Come with me. I’m not leaving you here,” you hiss, pushing past him to swipe a few items off your desk and into the pockets of your clothes. Running back to the doorway, you tug on his arms again, but he stands unmoving, and you feel something shattering inside you.

“Don’t do this, Jeongin, please. We can leave right now. There’s still time!” You clutch at his shoulders, voice breaking as you plead with him, but you see the resolve glow in his eyes, flickering, entwining with the inferno from outside, and you know.

Your nose stings and there’s a hollowness in your chest as you reach up to hug him, committing to memory the rough fabric of his shirt, the lanky arms, the tremble in delicate fingers as he buries his head in your shoulder, and your vision blurs when you feel him choke on a sob. 

He pushes away first, swiping at his eyes and backing up, summoning a wobbly smile as he hits the button to close the passageway.

“Go.” His voice is firm, and you steel yourself against the barrage of emotions that flood you when he sends you a salute, gaze unwavering as the thick stone door scrapes shut. You let your forehead rest on the door for a moment, barely registering the pain from your nails cutting half-moon crescents into the flesh of your palm, dread threatening to claw its way up your throat.

A muted boom sounds from somewhere beyond you, and a fine layer of dust settles in your hair. _No time. Get out!_

You rush down the corridor, the sound of your breaths and steps on the chilly stone floor punctuated by cracking walls and fractured shouts, eventually fading as the darkness closes in. You’re sweating now, and as you squeeze through tight turns, moving further and further down, the air chills, and you’re vaguely aware of your hands shaking as the cold bites at your exposed skin. The tunnels seem endless but you push forward still, stumbling through on legs unused to this much work.

It’s an eternity to the exit but you make it, spotting shards of light through a small hole at the top of a rickety ladder. The frost hits you full force when you emerge, and your breath fogs as scan your surroundings. Your home is distant when you look back, and through the trees you see the embers of what’s left of everything you’ve ever known.

The northernmost turret falls.

You break your gaze and turn, facing the long trek east. You know this plan by heart, could walk this path with your eyes closed if you had to. You’ve long memorised every curve and turn, and your mother’s voice drifts into your head as begin your journey.

_“Stay alert. Only you and I know this route, but you can never be too careful. Now tell me again.”_

_“Straight through the forest, turning right at the heart oak. Follow the creek to the river, take the boat downstream until I reach a fork. Go left, then leave the boat under the rotting mangrove. It’s dawn. I have only two days in the mountains. One day up, one day down. Shelter in a cave overnight, then continue east along the riverbank. Disguise myself at the dock. Offer help at a seamstress. Stay hidden. Make acquaintances, bide my time, wait for our allies,” you recite, tracing your finger along a worn map laid out on the table before you._

_“Good.” She rises from her seat opposite you, and not for the first time you wonder whether you’ll ever be able to live up to her expectations._

You find it almost hysterical how terribly things deviate from the plan. The way to the river is uneventful, but you’re more out of shape than you thought, and you’re sweating and shaking by the time you arrive at the mangrove swamp. You silently curse yourself for not thinking to bring food as you crunch bitterly on the little pack of dried orange slices you find buried in the pocket of your pants, lamenting the terrible balance that causes you to step pools of muddy water on your way up the mountain.

At this point you think you practically deserve to be caught. But does your misery end there? Apparently not, if the mud dried and caked on your shoes, the cuts on your face from tree branches, the mottled bruise on your knee from tripping over something scurrying in the undergrowth, and your slowly developing fever seem to be any indication. It certainly doesn’t help that you’ve been trying to outrun a storm, and every breath in weighs heavy in your chest, the air clinging wet and heavy.

Scaling down the mountain is surprisingly harder than going up was, and a wave of exhaustion hits you just as night falls. You barely manage to pull yourself into a rocky overhang just as you feel the first droplets of water land on the ground outside, and your consciousness slips away with each shallow breath. You raise a suddenly heavy hand to your forehead, grimacing when you feel yourself burning up. _I’m really going to die here_ , you think. _Jeongin’s heart would break._ You don’t even have the energy to summon up any tears for your dearest relative.

The rain is pouring down now, and what sanity you have left is berating your addled mind for suddenly conjuring a figure walking through the rain towards you, their long strides eating up the distance and coming to a sudden stop next to your feverish body. A face hovers above yours, and any coherent thought abruptly fades away as the delirium takes you under.

_Scarlet fruit rots at your feet._

_Cliffs crumble into dust._

_You’re in the orangery, watching a man bleed out. He turns to you, and you scream._

_The sensation of hands grabbing at you, and an icy grip on your head._

_Your dreams are restless._

_Yet for the first time, you dream._

There’s a scratching at your nose and a low rumbling coming from… your chest? Your eyelids are heavy but you force them open anyway, propping yourself up on one shaky arm. The limb gives out and you wince at the soreness, and whatever creature that was apparently lying on you startles and escapes as you collapse onto your back.

You try again, this time rolling over onto your side and pressing up, panting at the exertion.

Wherever you are, it’s dark, and it smells like dirt and must. Something damp slips over your eyes, and you pull at what seems to be a rag, glancing at it curiously before realising that your fever’s gone. The cloth drops from your fingers when you spot a pair of glowing eyes a ways from you, low to the ground, unblinking. You’ve crawling over before you realise, and your eyes trace the shape of some animal, trembling on the earthen floor.

A blinding light fills the gloom at that moment, just as a hand closes around your left arm, hauling you off the ground and into a firm chest. You let out a squeak, and your face flames embarrassingly where it’s pressed into a broad shoulder, shielding your eyes from the glaring brightness outside. Whoever’s holding you pulls you forward and out into the light, and the hand at the back of your head falls away.

The daylight is making the back of your eyes ache, but you’re too fixated on what’s around you; there’s a faint breeze, and you squint at the gilded haze of an endless wheat crop sea, breathing in the sparkling rush of the river in the distance, the sun settling on your skin like a warm, sleepy cat. There’s a slight shift of the body you’re still pressed to, and you look back.

It feels like forever before you can think again.

A choppy fall of sable silk, rays of light warming umber streaks, a glittering pair of sloe eyes under a frown framed by full brows, narrowing over a scrunch in a regal, graciously sloped nose dotted with a tawny freckle, a soft cupid bow pursed with annoyance.

“Are you done?”

You’re startled out of your mental inventory of the beautiful boy standing before you and you jerk out of his grip, backpedalling. You open your mouth to protest but immediately double over in a coughing fit, and you snatch gratefully at the cup of water thrust in front of you. 

“Thank you,” you croak, placing the cup back into his outstretched hand. “Where am I?”

He spears you with a lofty look, and you mentally slap yourself for sounding so suspiciously foreign. The last thing you want is for word to spread that a stranger arrived in town overnight.

“Since you were staring at me earlier, I’d assume you can see with your own eyes where we are.”

You rack your brain for a moment, taking in the wheat fields, the blue-green water, the early morning sunlight and hazard a guess.

“Livia? If the river’s here, then we’re at the southern port, right?”

“Wow, so you can think for yourself,” he smirks, folding his arms across his chest.

Okay, what the hell? Maybe you deserved that first jab, but this was uncalled for.

“Did I do something? What’s your problem?”

“What’s _my_ problem? Next time you try carrying a sick person down a mountain in a storm, hiding from the rest of the village and making sure you don’t die, all while keeping a secret that could get me executed!”

“Thanks for the help, but I didn’t ask you to bring me back from the brink of death, did I?”

“I give you life and this is the thanks I get? Great! Next time I’ll just leave you to die then!”

“Give me life? You are so… wait, wait, wait. Get you executed? What do you—”

“Yeah, I know who you are. And if anyone finds out, I’m a dead man, and if you’re not dead with me, I’m definitely coming back to haunt you.”

 _He knows who I am? How does someone from Livia know who I am?_ You’ve never travelled this way before, nor have there ever been diplomatic ties with any countries along the floodplains. _Yeah, right. He has to be lying. There’s no way anyone from this side of the river could recognise my face_. It’s not like yours is a particularly well-known royal visage anyway. Jeongin was in and out of the castle more than you were, and if anything, people would probably assume him to be the royal heir and you a distant relative.

“I can practically see what you’re thinking, and no, I’m not dumb enough to believe that your cousin’s the royal heir and you’re just some distantly-related poor gentry.”

“So you can read minds now? I wonder what else you’ve got going for you besides your plan to get both of us killed,” you snap, looking around frantically. “Care to shout any louder about how I’m the royal heir?”

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes and you know he’s about to do exactly that.

“Fine! I am who you think I am.” you hiss, slapping a hand over his mouth. There’s a wet sensation on your palm and you yank your hand away, cringing in disgust. “Did you just lick me?”

He sticks his tongue out at you then turns away, heading into the dark hut you came out of and coming back shortly with a little cat tucked into his arms, all while you frenetically wipe your hand on your clothes.

“That’s what was lying on me? In there?” you ask as the kitten rumbles, warm and content. It’s cute, and its striped ginger fur looks invitingly soft.

He pecks the tiny feline between its ears. “ _That_ is Sooni. She’s my cat. And no, you can’t touch her.”

Your hand freezes, halfway on its way to give the kitten a pat on the head. “Why? I want to say sorry for scaring her in there.”

“You scared her? That’s it, I’m handing you over to the authorities.”

He begins walking away and you panic, hurrying after him.

“Wait! You promised not to tell anyone!”

He stops, a look of confusion stealing over his features.

“I didn’t say that.”

 _Damnit._ He was right. Your hand over his mouth had just shut him up temporarily.

A grin slowly forms on his face, the corners of his lips curling impishly. “If you apologise to Sooni I’ll promise not to tell, and you can even come with me to my house.”

You’re speechless for a moment. “You want me to apologise to the cat?”

“Her name’s Sooni.”

“You want me to apologise to Sooni.”

“Yes.” He shrugs, and opens his mouth. “EVERYONE! I FOUND THE—”

“OKAY! My god, do you ever shut up? I’ll apologise to Sooni!”

He snaps his mouth shut, beaming obnoxiously as he presents the sleepy kitten to you.

You bend down a little bit, eye level with the diminutive cat. “Um… sorry?”

“Uh-uh, not good enough.”

You barely suppress an eyeroll. “Sorry for scaring you in there, Sooni.” The look he’s giving you says _Go on_ , and you grit your teeth. “And for leaving you in there by yourself?”

A hum of approval, and the kitten is retracted back into the safety of a chest and arms covered in loose linen, where it resumes purring. He casts you an expectant look, cocking his head, and you realise he means for you to follow him.

“Well? Aren’t you coming?”

He turns away again, padding smoothly across a path of lush grass that’s been cut into the wheat.

“Wait!” you yell at his retreating back. “I don’t even know your name.”

“I’m Minho.”

He gives you a little smile, and in that moment he is warm and golden and everything you could have never imagined as you trace the shape of his name on your lips.

It’s a long walk to wherever he’s taking you, and on the way there you find out that Minho found you passed out under a rocky shelter, and for some reason (his words, not yours), he had carried you, in the pouring rain, all the way to the hut you woke up in. He tells you it’s been three days since, and you’re busy calculating how far away from the central port you are and how you’re going to get there—

“We’re here. Welcome to my humble abode.”

In front of you is a shack, no larger than your room in the north tower, brown of the river mud and packed with wheat stalks. The door… well, there isn’t one, and a small hearth occupies the majority of the space inside, a pile of furs in a room to the left of the entryway.

“It’s… um. Cosy?”

Minho snorts, dropping Sooni on the floor gently. She pads over to a bowl of water and starts lapping at it, while Minho waves you in to the only room in the house.

“You can sleep here. But you’re going to have to stay inside, just in case someone sees you.”

Another kindness from a stranger. You’ve been so caught up in the unexpectedness of the entire situation so far that you haven’t bothered to wonder why he’s being so nice to you.

“Why are you even doing this? Why are you helping me? You said that I could probably get you killed.”

He bends down to stroke Sooni, who’s now dozing on a furry pelt.

“Hmm… I was curious. You seem interesting.”

“That’s it?” you cock an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Curious enough to warrant likely death?”

He shrugs.

“Maybe it’ll be worth it.”

Before you can process whatever _that_ means, he’s grabbing a basket stacked with tools that was resting in a corner and donning a coarse straw hat.

“Okay, your royal highness. I have to go—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“And start work because I’m already late, and my overseer is not a nice guy, so if you could make yourself ever so useful—”

“I can sew. And hunt! I just don’t—”

“Sounds good! I’ll be back!" and he’s dashing out of the house.

“I need things to do that though!” you’re shouting at his slowly disappearing figure. “Like a bow and arrow! Or fabric if you want me to mend things! Can you even hear me right now?”

Sooni’s awake and rubbing against your ankles as you watch Minho give you a thumbs up from afar before motioning at you to get back inside the house. There’s an odd feeling in your chest; you dismiss it as apprehension of what’s to come.

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************

“I thought you would’ve run off by now.”

You huff out a breath and grin, watching the way the air fogs in front of you as you hold your hands out to the small fire.

“And miss out on free food and board? Never.”

Minho plops down beside you, clutching a hand to his chest in mock anguish.

“Is that all I am to you? Just a provider of food and roof over your head even though I—”

He stops monologuing when Sooni crawls into his lap from yours, and you roll your eyes at the way he coos at her. After all these months you’ve learned that everything and everyone else is second place when it comes to Sooni.

The flames flicker, warm and dusky over a boy and his cat, and you wonder, not for the first time, how things would be different had you been an ordinary person, free from the shackles of your bloodline, sitting in the glow of a crackling fire with a boy you liked far too much.

Your cheeks burn and you look away, hoping the glow of the fire hides the embarrassment heating up your face.

 _I love him_ , you think.

It could’ve been the first day, when he wheeled back a barrow full of arrow shafts, bows, needles, cloth, dumping it all out in front of you, beaming at your shocked expression.

Or maybe it was the time he (tried) to teach you how to make bread, and he ate every terrible loaf you made without saying a word.

Perhaps it was the trips he made into town every week, despite not liking the townspeople very much, just so he could trade the animals you hunted for things you asked for, and bring back news of your home.

Reasonably, it must’ve been the hesitation on your birthday when he presented you a carved wooden cat, and he let you fuss over the wood splinters in his hands.

For all you knew, it was the week he came down with a fever, refusing to let go of your hand as he slept, cracking jokes whenever he was lucid.

Maybe it’s the way he’s talking to you now, eyes alight, telling you that the festival tomorrow in town is the highlight of the season, and that he’ll take you to all the stalls he loved as a kid.

Whatever it is, you hold on to it for a little bit longer.

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************

Minho’s right. The festival is beautiful, lively, so different from the peacocking of royal functions… but maybe that’s just your fascinating guide, pulling you along to play all his favourite games, buying you food you’ve never tasted. It’s too easy to lose yourself in childhood innocence, especially with how you’re bundled up and disguised, that you forget for a moment how delicately this peace hangs in the balance.

You’re watching Minho throw metal rings at small sticks hammered into the ground, when pain rips through your chest. You look down, and suddenly you’re gasping for air, Minho’s face blurring above yours, a ringing in your ears as chaos takes over the festival. He’s saying something you can’t hear, lifting you up—you choke on a cry as the movement causes a fresh bolt of agony to pass through your body.

You’re vaguely aware of movement, and Minho’s taking you somewhere, but you can barely think past the pain and the cold and the silence. He’s crying.

 _Why are you crying?_ You can’t get the words out.

_Don’t cry, love. Not over me._

Over his shoulder the sky gapes, a yawning chasm of stars; they seem to beckon you.

Minho’s saying something again, and your eyes slip shut. The pain’s gone now, but it’s getting harder to think. A touch on your brow, then nothing.

A voice, unbidden, past the silence in your head. _How sad he will be when you are gone._

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh this is my first fic ever so if you have any kind of feedback it's always welcome


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